


The Last of A Dying Breed

by SleepDeprivedFemale



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Blood and Injury, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Dissociation, Eye Trauma, F/M, Gen, Gimurei | Grima Being an Asshole, Gimurei | Grima and My Unit | Reflet | Robin Are the Same Entity, Grima is still a bad guy but the situation is a bit more complicated, M/M, Male My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Minor Character Death, Other, Political Intrigue, Robin gets extra eyes and wings, but is it really cannibalism if a dragon in human form eats a human?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29961984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDeprivedFemale/pseuds/SleepDeprivedFemale
Summary: "Robin!" Chrom yells again but this time he feels slightly less guilty at the other’s flinch. “I'd never— why would you think I'd stab you?! We beat Grima, didn't we?”Robin laughs again with that same bitter smile and something ugly coils around Chrom’s heart....Chrom is very confused, and all he can do is lean closer and grab Robin’s other hand in reassurance. "Tell me what's wrong."Robin makes several false starts, his expression shifting from amused to hesitant to crestfallen. Finally, he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.All six of them.After defeating Validar and destroying Grima, Chrom waits for Robin to wake up. When he does, he realises that nothing’s gone quite as planned, both for the better and for the worse.Robin has his memories back. All of them.And he is Grima as much as he is Robin.(A story of expected betrayal and cruelty, and how none of them come to pass.)
Relationships: Chrom & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Henry & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Liz | Lissa & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Marc | Morgan & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, My Unit | Reflet | Robin & Riviera | Libra, My Unit | Reflet | Robin & The Shepherds, My Unit | Reflet | Robin/Sallya | Tharja
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory story-specific spotify playlist here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/649SrYJTGdhmE2a9r5RjTk?si=5e99e378109c4492

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I have a thing for characters who are/used to be/are related to ancient evil dragons, so *mario voice* here we gooo

Chrom watches over Robin day and night. He knows he’s not dead. He prays too, though, like all others, he receives no answer.

But he believes in Robin, in his promise to break free of fate and not let Grima take him. The heartbeat Chrom feels as he holds his hand is proof enough of that determination, so he stays by his side, even when it weakens, even when it falters.

Lisa, Maribelle, Libra, all the Shepherd’s healers are not sure what happened to Robin — and how could they? Ancient evil draconic possession isn’t in the textbooks, nor is it a reoccurring combat injury — but agree that it is best is to let him rest.

… Except they have let Robin rest, but he shows no signs of waking up free from Grima’s influence. He hasn’t moved, but a few hours after Grima’s defeat, strange red lines appeared on his face, coalescing into a shape that encircled his eyes travelled the middle and down to the edges of his lips, interrupted by two rows of eye-like shapes like the ones around his actual ones… If anything, the new red eye-like marking, the still-present brand of the defile on his hand and the odd nubs growing at his back like malignant tumours indicate the exact opposite. Chrom can only hope that they’re a mere backlash of the ritual and not a sign of their ultimate failure…

Naga said Robin could live through this, but that the chances would be slim. Indeed, Robin made it out still breathing, but who was to say he would wake up? Who was to say he wouldn’t be permanently comatose, growing weaker by the day until fading away?

An eyelid twitch from Robin breaks Chrom’s train of thought as he leans in close with hope. “Robin?”

It must be a miracle, as Robin grows more and more awake. He forcefully exhales and scrunches his face, his eyes moving under his eyelids — and something similar happens to the eye-like markings beneath them, but Chrom is too elated to let that dampen his mood.

Robin lets out a soft groan and his hand twitches in Chrom’s embrace.

“Robin?”

The man in question grimaces and tries to pull his hand away, but Chrom’s grip is firm and only grows tighter with worry.

Robin tries to withdraw his hand again with more urgency, but as soon as his grimace shifts to worry, his entire frame relaxes and his face slackens.

“… Chrom?” Robin’s voice is hoarse and quiet, but it’s the most wonderful thing Chrom has heard all week.

“Yes, it’s me!” Chrom enthusiastically says, and the sheer volume of his voice has Robin squirm. “Ah sorry,” he says as he drops to a whisper. “It’s been a couple days since you collapsed at the Dragon’s Table,” he starts, knowing Robin’s first priority when in an unfamiliar environment is getting the hang of his surroundings. “We didn’t want to risk moving you so we’re still in Plegia.”

Robin nods to show he’s listening but doesn’t open his eyes. 

Chrom feels a lump form in his throat but swallows it down. “How do you feel? Are you hurting anywhere? If you’re hungry, I can go grab something—”

“Wait,” Robin tightens his hold on Chrom’s arm as he’s about to get up and ask Frederick for some leftovers. “Just… give me a moment.”

“Of course,” Chrom says as he sits back down and rubs circles on Robin’s palm, full of nervous energy. 

Robin gives him a faint smile, then frowns as his free hand travels up his face, touching the strange eye-like red marks under his eyes. “I take it I’ve… changed?”

Chrom frowns. How can he tell from touch alone? Can he feel the ink or… whatever it was that coloured his skin? Is it hurting?

“it’s just a… scar or something like that, isn’t it? Like your brand.”

Robin pauses, then laughs, caught between amusement and bitterness.

Chrom doesn’t like his friend’s expression one bit. “What’s wrong?”

“Promise you won’t stab me with Falchion?”

“Robin!” Chrom yells again, but this time he feels slightly less guilty at the other’s flinch. “I’d never — why would you think I’d stab you?! We beat Grima, didn’t we?”

Robin laughs again with that same bitter smile and something ugly coils around Chrom’s heart. 

“We did, didn’t we?” he asks again, more forcefully. They must have, Chrom watched that ghastly illusion fade with a furious cry, he caught Robin as he collapsed, fearing for the worst. If they failed, if Grima is still in there, if Robin… Chrom doesn’t know what to do—

“Ah no, I’m fine, I didn’t mean to worry you like that,” Robin says at Chrom’s silence, and his apologetic tone is familiar enough that he relaxes. Somewhat. “It’s just that the situation wasn’t what we thought it was.”

Chrom frowns. “But Naga said—”

“Naga peddles in half truths as always,” Robin mutters with uncharacteristic bitterness before he smooths his expression and tone back to neutrality. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean to sound so… hostile.”

Chrom is very confused, and all he can do is lean closer and grab Robin’s other hand in reassurance. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Robin makes several false starts, his expression shifting from amused to hesitant to crestfallen. Finally, he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

All six of them.

Chrom stares at the six blood-red eyes staring back at him. The first row was where Robin’s single pair of eyes should be, but apparently more have grown in the eye-shaped gaps of the tattoo-like marks under them.

And they’re all red. Robin’s eyes are supposed to be a soft brown.

“You promised not to stab me with Falchion. I’ll be very disappointed if you break that promise,” Robin evenly says. His eyes, again all _six_ of them, narrow in discomfort before he flinches and closes them. “Oh, this is going to be a pain to get used to again.”

Once again, Robin’s words are clearly his, but there is an underlying tone of wrongness under it. 

“… Is that just a side effect from the ritual?” Chrom asks, hopeful. It makes sense that someone wouldn’t escape possession by an ancient evil dragon completely unscathed.

“Yes… and not exactly.”

Chrom is trying to be supportive here, but he’s quickly approaching the end of his rope. “You’re not filling me with confidence.”

“What do you think makes us who we are?” Robin opens his eyes half-way but looks away. “Are we solely shaped by our memories? By the traits we inherit from our parents? By something innate in our souls?”

“What brought that on…?” Chrom trails off when Robin doesn’t respond. “I don’t know. It could be any three, could be all at the same time.”

Robin smiles, still looking away. “Then, if you lost all your memories, do you think you’d act the same? That you’d become the same person you are now?”

Chrom doesn’t have an answer. “Where are you going with this?”

Robin’s smile falls, and he frowns in thought, taking on the same expression whenever he was working on the next battle’s strategy.

“I… don’t have any other way to phrase this, so before I do, please renew your promise that you won’t run me through with Falchion.”

“What is it with you — Robin, I _promise_. No matter what’s going on, you’re my friend and I would never hurt you.”

“Even if I told you I am Grima?”

Chrom sighs. “If this is about you being the so-called Heart of Grima again, then you know I—Wait.” His eyes widen in realisation as he fully processes Robin’s words and thinks he may have meant what he just said in a more literal way. 

Chrom’s mouth opens, but no words come out.

“I can explain,” Robin quickly says.

“Please do,” Chrom mutters, because he’s about to faint. He must have misheard or misunderstood. The man before him is Robin, not Grima, evidenced by him not screaming about setting everything on fire and destroying the world.

“Well, imagine you’re stuck somewhere…” Robin frowns and pauses. “Actually, don’t, but say you’ve taken a midday nap and have a very intense dream—no, that’s not quite right either…”

“Robin,” Chrom pleads. At least he still responds to his name, so the worst has not come to pass… right?

Robin grimaces in annoyance. “Ugh, give me a moment to gather my thoughts.”

Unable to do anything else and feeling like the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole, Chrom waits.

“… On second thought,” Robin mutters, “I may not be sure what happened either.” He lets out a loud exhale as he opens and closes his eyes, the two lower rows half-lidded but never fully closing. 

With a huff, Robin places his hands over the bottom two rows and when he retracts them, they’re closed while the topmost is open. Which is a strange gesture, but also Robin with only two eyes open is what Chrom expected to see when he woke up…

“Does something like split personality via amnesia make much sense to you?” Robin eventually asks.

No, it does not. “Our plan was to kill Grima.”

Robin hums in thought. “True, but it turns out this is less of a case of ‘ancient evil dragon wants to possess my body’, but more ‘ancient evil dragon ends up in the middle of a field with amnesia while his unpleasant memories festered and are given form by his sealed magic, and getting either of them back would likely overwhelm his psyche and lead to him becoming even more evil’,” he says in one breath.

All Chrom can do is stare, and Robin gives him an uneasy smile. “Basically, I got my memories back. All of them.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

“Robin!” Lissa tackles him and forces a laugh out of him. “You’re finally up! Oh, we were so worried, Chrom here never left your side—!”

“It’s good to see you again too,” Robin chokes out. “I see you’ve kept up your strength training…”

“Oh yes, there’s not much else to do here and I’ve been thinking of joining an axe throwing competition back home, so I’ve been practicing—” Lissa cuts herself off, “But enough about me, how are _you_ feeling? Up and at ‘em?” And though her smile is as cheerful as always, Chrom sees her stealing glances at the marks beneath Robin’s eyes. And if Chrom has noticed that, then Robin too…

“Ah,” Robin brings his hand up to his eyes with a sigh. “Probably a lingering side effect of the ritual. I’m not sure if it will go away, unfortunately.”

“Oh, yes, I was thinking the same thing too.” Her smile briefly falters, but moments later it’s back and as bright as ever. “And hey, a cool eye tattoo isn’t the worst thing you can get from surviving a weird evil dragon revival ritual!”

Robin casually laughs at her attempt at a joke, and though Chrom joins in with a smile, he’s not sure he can go through with this deception.

It’s understandable that Robin wants to keep his identity as Grima a secret. Regardless of Chrom’s thoughts on the matter, if word spreads that Robin is, in fact, Grima incarnate, many factions across Plegia and Ylisse will immediately lose their minds and plunge the whole content into chaos. Chrom understands and sympathises with that, but he does not agree with Robin’s decision to keep this so tight a secret that even the Shepherds don’t know.

But it’s not Chrom’s secret and therefore not his decision to make. Especially since he still doesn’t fully understand what’s going on. He understands, on an intellectual level, when Robin told him he is technically Grima but had forgotten all about it, but cannot reconcile those two very different people being the same. Especially when Robin is here with him, acting like his usual self.

“I’ve also brought you some food — You too Chrom!” She adds with a playful punch that makes his arm sore. “You’ve barely been eating!”

Robin sends Chrom a disappointed look before he tries to get up and flinches, nearly doubling over.

Lissa and Chrom are immediately by his side. Chrom reaches out to his back to support him. He expects to maybe feel those strange nubs that have been growing on his nab, which were an accidental discovery from when Lissa tried to give him a bath, but something they chalked up to a very persistent muscle cramp. However, the cloth on Robin’s back shifts and sinks on something longer and… softer?

Robin’s eyes widen and Chrom feels that strange softness shift.

“What’s wrong?” Lissa asks. “I remember you had some weird growths on your back, I can have a look—”

“I’m fine, my back is just sore.” Robin quickly says, backing away towards the wall and lowering Chrom’s hand, “I just need to walk around a bit and I’ll be right as rain.”

“If you say so…” Lissa says with a worried pout. “Still, let’s’ dig in!”

As Lisa scarfs down on her portion while Robin takes significantly more subdued bites out of his, Chrom’s stomach rumbles and he munches on a sandwich too. He watches Lissa speak in between mouthfuls of food that has Robin huff in amusement and respond with a remark that has Lissa choking with laughter and realises how much he missed small moments like this.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

“Wings,” Chrom utters.

Robin hums as he twists his back to get a better look. There are six of them, just like his eyes, and growing in pairs of two down his back. The topmost pair is the longest, protruding right under his shoulder blades and its wingspan nearly reaching his elbows. The middle one is slightly shorter and stumper, while the last pair comes out of his middle back and is a fluffy squashed mess of feathers.

“Like my old ones…” Robin mutters but Chrom, like many other things today, chooses not to dwell too much on that remark. He gives his wings an experimental twist and flinches. “Though they’re still sore from growing while I was on my back…”

“First the eyes and now the wings,” Chrom says to no one in particular.

Rom raises his eyebrows. “I suppose they are useful if I ever want to have an emergency exit from a battle. Assuming they grow to be flight-capable.” He frowns. “Then again, I can’t walk around with them. People will ask questions.”

“Please tell me you won’t start growing horns and a tail.”

Robin pats his head and Chrom is prepared for the worst. “I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised at this point.” He hums, then flinches as he tries to manoeuvre his wings flat against his back. “Give me a hand?”

“At what?”

“Hold them in place.”

Chrom has no doubt which pair Robin is referring to. Though the upper two coil up like a bird’s wings, the bottom pair sags unevenly in a mess of fluff. The more Chrom looks at them, the more they resemble the wings of a chick. Are they too weak?

Nevertheless, Chrom holds them squashed against Robin’s back. The feathers are soft like silk and he resists the urge to pat them and the ones above them. 

In the meantime, Robin has taken a sheet and with some manoeuvring, is wrapping it around his waist, much like an oversized bandage. Chrom helps him nestle the bottom pair against the cloth and steps back as Robin finishes up.

“That should do for now,” he says as he stretches his back. Chrom sees the upper pair shift under the looser fabric, while the bottom one has been tightly wrapped. “I hope they don’t stick out much. Don’t want to start rumours that I’m developing a hunched back.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s fortunate that you have a thing for long heavy robes.”

Robin gives Chrom an expression of mock offence. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that. They’re warm and comfy.”

“Can’t argue with that. I’m surprised you don’t get heatstroke from wearing them all day.”

“Ylisse is chilly.”

“No it’s not. And Plegia is hotter and you still wear them.”

Robin has the face of a man who has run out of arguments. “As a self-respecting tactician, I have an image to maintain.”

And Chrom’s laughs, a sudden barked laughter he hasn’t laughed in a long time. Robin joins him with a small laugh and a muttered wry remark, and Chrom realises his last shreds of dread from when his friend woke up are gone.

He’s still with them. Still the same old Robin.

Just with a few extra bits, he adds as Robin struggles to undo the sheet and grumbles about logistics.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Chrom hears Morgan yelp and barges into Robin’s tent, Falchion ready. Their stay at Plegia has been quiet so far, the locals accepting their coin in exchange for leaving them alone, but bandits are an ever-present threat and if one of them made it to the tents under the dead of night—

But what Chrom sees is not some half-crazed bandit with their axe against one of the Morgan’s throats. Instead, the twins have cornered Robin whose eyes, all six of them, have gone wide while his wings are loose and assaulted by the little devils.

“That’s so cool—!”

“Does that mean we’re half dragons—?!

“Can we use dragon stones?! I’ve never tried, but maybe if we focus—!”

“Will we get more eyes and wings when we grow up too?!”

“We could read three books at the same time—!”

“And reach the top shelves without lumbering around that staircase—!”

“While in dragon form—!”

“Yeah—!”

The twins high-five as Robin catches Chrom’s eye.

‘Help me’, the Fell Dragon desperately mouths.

Chrom relaxes, winks and bites back a laugh at the look of absolute betrayal Robin gives him as the twins now start hopping around him with a new ceaseless barrage of questions.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Robin wakes up from his dream with tears in his eyes and an aborted sob.

He shifts to his side and digs his fingers into the mattress, ignoring the urge to unfurl his wings and burn down their camp. But the more he tries to push away memories of burning fields and clashing armies, the more his mind protests and sinks into those long-buried memories.

Robin swallows and curls further in himself at the memory of plunging on a battalion of archers and eating half of them in one fell swoop, tasting iron and meat.

Things are not like that anymore. He’s not like that anymore, he doesn’t want to be like that anymore. That old world doesn’t exist anymore. Humans aren’t little dots on the landscape wielding the occasional dragon tooth sword. They’re people, fully realised beings (who still wield the occasional dragon tooth sword). They’re people like Chrom, Lissa, Lucina, the Morgans… They’re people like the Shepherds, like Frederick, Libra, Tharja, Henry, Sully, Sumia, Virion, Stahl, Vaike, Miriel, Ricken, Flavia, Basilio, Kellam, Donnel, Olivia, Lon’qu, Gaius, Cordelia, Gregor, Anna, Cherche, Say’ri… Non-humans too, like Nowi, Panne…

Robin mutters through the names of his companions like a prayer. His homicidal urge subsides, but it’s still present, a bright ball of rage in his heart that clouds his mind whenever he dwells too much on it.

Too agitated to get back to sleep, Robin gets up and checks on the twins cot. Morgan is drooling. The other Morgan has somehow ended up perpendicular to the mattress. Robin tucks them in as much as he can without disturbing them. 

Wasn’t there some medicine to help people calm down after a restless sleep? He should check if they have any lying around and make sure he carries some with him like he does along with his vulnerary. 

His search ends up with him being outside Chrom’s tent. He stops dead in his tracks and after a long internal debate, he enters.

Chrom’s tent is bare, even if he is the prince and future Exalt of Ylisse. Chrom himself sleeps on a modest cot, though one too small for him as the ends of his feet dangle out of the bottom of the bed. He’s sleeping peacefully and Robin can’t help but stare.

A sturdy build, a tousled mop of blue hair, a capable fighter wielding the Falchion. The resemblance should anger Robin, it should trigger the same irrational momentary spark of rage whenever he now glances at Lucina. Instead, Robin always finds himself calmer when his thoughts turn to Chrom…

Chrom shifts and cracks one eye open. “… Robin?”

Robin jolts and turns around. “Sorry I—”

“Were you watching me sleep? “

“No, I had a nightmare and thought—Nevermind, forget you saw me and apologies for waking you up.”

He leaves before Chrom can say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start is rather light-hearted, but it’ll get darker/more dramatic in the next couple of chapters, so heed the warning tags.  
> New chapters will be posted every week, currently 3/7 are written and since all the scenes are more or less outlined I pray this won’t balloon like so many of my other stories do.  
> Find me @ SleepDeprivedFemale on tumblr, @ Sleepy#3903 on discord, where I'm always up for a chat ✌


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fire Emblem Awakening: Grimleal Shenanigans 2: Electric Boogaloo: The Chapter

Chrom enters Robin’s tent and pauses when he says it’s already occupied by the twins, Tharja and Henry, who in turn all go still on his arrival. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, your timing is perfect actually,” Robin says as he shuffles some paper in a tome and shuts it close. “I take it we’re ready to depart for Ylisse?”

He nods. “We’ve already overstayed our welcome. Plus, there’s a lot of work to be done back home.” Like going over all this with Ylisse’s High Council and dealing with its diplomatic fallout. Chrom half- expects them to bide for his abdication sooner than later.

“Of course,” Robin says. “Though I’ll have to ask you a favour for Tharja, Henry, and me.”

“Us too!” one of the Morgans pipes up.

“Yes, the twins too,” Robin adds with a small smile before he turns to Chrom. “We will stay in Plegia for a few more days and join you later on.”

This is the first time Chrom ever hears of this, and he is understandably confused. “You want to travel back all on your own? How are you going to catch back up?”

“You’ll be burdened by horses and travel slower in the sands. We can cover ground faster and catch up with you halfway.”

Chrom frowns even if he knows Robin usually has a reason for springing surprises like this. “And why do you want to stay behind in the first place? Is there something we missed? We all can stay here for a couple more days if necessary...” and trails off as he takes in the tense ambience of the room. Henry’s smile is tight and Tharja Is clutching her tome, hackles raised.

Robin must have noticed the increasing tension as well, for he clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “To start us off in common ground, everyone in this room knows I’m Grima.”

Chrom looks between Robin and the other two mages. He understands why the Morgans know they’re his children after all, but Henry and Tharja? They’re... not the most discreet in Chrom’s opinion, not when compared to all the other Shepherds. Then again, they are both Plegian defectors, and would likely have a different view on Robin’s situation compared to the rest of their group...

“Wait, you do?!” Morgan asks, mouth agape.

“Don’t stab dad until he teaches us how to fly first!” the other Morgan adds.

“What—Of course I won’t,” Chrom quickly says. “I’m not some hot-headed idiot.”

Tharja lets out a dark chuckle. “Could have fooled me.”

“What is this, pick on Chrom day?” he exasperates but quickly smiles as Robin’s stony facade cracks to a smirk.

Henry joins his laugh and then turns to twins. “Oh, but if you do want to get right wings now, I’ve got a hex—”

“Finish that sentence and I will eat you,” Robin deadpans, earning him another string of laughter from the mage before he turns to Chrom. “But yes, we need to stay behind. I apologise for not telling you sooner, but I needed everyone to think we’ll be departing per usual.”

“Why so?”

Robin shifts and glances away before facing Chrom. “I need to make sure this country doesn’t collapse,” he begins as if rehearsing a speech. “Things have already gone from bad to worse, first with Gangrel then with Validar, and now Plegia might as well be a collection of scattered city states rife with bandits. If we let things stand as they are, I would not be surprised if another Gangrel shows up...” He trails off before catching himself. “Which is not to say a unified Plegia won’t benefit Ylisse too. Again, many of these bandits operate across borders—”

“I understand,” Chrom softly cuts him off. “You have a responsibility to this country as well.” More so considering who he is, which is still something Chrom finds hard to conceptualise. Still, he puts a hand to his heart and continues: “And as the future Exalt...” his words falter as Emmeryn’s face appears in his mind’s eye, “I recognise how much Plegia has suffered because of Ylisse’s actions and want to follow on Emm’s — on the last Exalt’s wishes for our shared peace and prosperity.”

His words are followed by silence, and Chrom wonders if he’s messed up already by making things too formal.

“Woah that’s a relief!” Henry eventually pipes up with a laugh. “You won’t believe how much gossip there is of the coronation here! So much of it is all gloom and doom, why some said they’ve seen you in battle and think you’ll be like your old man—”

Chrom stiffens and wants to deny him, but he can’t find the words or conviction.

“Henry, that’s enough,” Robin speaks for him, and his sober expression softens as he turns to Chrom. “There’s no reason to talk of such things, especially since we’ve already shown each other that destiny is a sham.”

Chrom nods, smiling back. He still feels stiff, but he notes Tharja looks away in thought while Henry is still grinning at him.

That’s good. Baby steps.

“Back to our topic,” Robin continues, “in order to make sure Plegia doesn’t have another go at Ylisse I need to lay some groundwork here first and I need to be... discreet about it.”

Meaning Robin doesn’t want to announce to the Grimleal that he’s Grima. “That’s why you want to stay behind,” he thinks out loud. “To have any observer think you’ve left.”

Robin nods. “But that won’t be enough for anyone who actually has a functioning pair of eyes, hence the second part of my plan.” He pats Morgan’s head — the one Chrom has mentally labelled as the Sword-Morgan, the other being Tome-Morgan as he has no idea how Robin and the twins seem to innately know which Morgan is referenced to every time they speak — with a smirk even though the boy pouts. “Morgan here will be hexed to resemble me and act as a body double.”

The other twin grins. 

“And Morgan will be with you and help keep up the guise as well,” Robin continues as he pats the other one’s head and who gets equally disgruntled.

“Eh?! But I thought I’d be staying here and doing cool spy stuff!”

“You need to work hard and help Morgan keep up with his cover, ideally by taking up most of his time,” Robin continues unperturbed. “I trust you to come up with something.”

“Ha!” Sword-Morgan exclaims and pokes Tome-Morgan. “That means I can order you around!”

“That’s not fair, dad—!”

Robins sends Chrom a pleading look which he understands as ‘keep an eye on them’. After he nods, Robin relaxes and gets the twins to settle down with a few quick words.

“What do you want me to say about your absence then?” Chrom asks.

“We keep it simple. Henry and Tharja want to spend some time in Plegia, and Morgan also stayed back with them to look around local bookstores as part of her training as a dark mage.”

Chrom nods again, already working on what he’ll tell the others. Thankfully he won’t have to stretch the truth far, as the two Morgans have recently switched their training from swordplay to spellcrafting. 

Though it is a shame he will have to misdirect his fellow Shepherds. But if he does not, he will have to explain why Robin has to go through this charade, and if they hear news of Grima-related activity while they know that Robin is not with them...

He and Robin need to talk after they reach Ylisse.

“If we’re done here...” Tharja speaks up as she brings up a small satchel back. Her smile is eerily wide as she hands it to Robin. “I’ve also completed my part of the plan.”

Robin gives her an appreciative smile as he pulls out a long dark cloth from the satchel... an outfit?

“I already know your measurements so it was only a simple task of finding the material and putting it all together,” Tharja continues as Robin lays out the different pieces. “I took some liberties with the design, but I think the final product will be to your liking...”

Robin lays out the outfit and sits back and Chrom leans into get a closer look, curious. 

There’s a large and heavy-looking skirt-like garment that many Plegian men wore, the front patterned with the six eyes of Grima. The... top for lack of a better term, is made up of a see-through dark-threaded mesh like most of Tharja’s outfit. The thread seems to be uneven, but at closer inspection Chrom makes out a dragon-like design on it, like a lace. It also seems to be backless, and the front is held up by two small strings that tie around the wearer’s neck. 

A dark purple hoodless cloak with red highlights lays next to the two pieces, looking similar to Robin’s usual robe, along with a single glove. Next to it is a large rectangular piece of black soft cloth that Chrom is initially puzzled by until he recalls how some local women wore head coverings and a similarly dark veil. Funnily enough, the veil is less see-through than the top.

Next to him, Robin seems to share his reservations. “Does this scream ‘Fell Dragon’ to you?”

“Uh,” Chrom hesitates. The outfit screams many things, but ‘destroyer of worlds’ is on the bottom of his list.

“You look like you’re going to an evil ball,” Sword-Morgan says.

“Or a goth wedding,” Tome-Morgan adds, aptly summarising Chom’s feelings on the matter.

“Everyone knows Grima is all powerful, fearsome and beautiful,” Tharja croons, and Chrom suspects she knows exactly what she is doing, “so the outfit should be as such.”

Robin gives Tharja a look long, which she reciprocates with a self-satisfied smile. Seconds later, he sighs. “As long as it hides my identity.”

“I think it might be a bit much” Chrom eventually says. Surely Robin can see that.

“It will do what I need to, which is make it harder to identify me.” And though Chrom finds this priority silly considering how little the top covers, Robin inspects the headscarf and veil with the same gravitas as his weapons before a battle.

Chrom is about to object about how this disguise is anything but subtle, but stops himself as he gives it a second look. The odd combination of the head coverings and the breezy top stand out to him, but may not be such an odd combination. Despite all their battles and various injuries, Robin has no identifying scars. His notable features always were his white hair and usually concealed Mark of the Defile, now joined by six red eyes and wings. And, personally, Chrom would likely focus on the extra appendages than more seemingly trivial details like height or build. So, this outfit obscures Robin as much as a combination of heavy robes and hood, while seemingly more revealing.

Still... “But the Grimleal already know about you, right? As...” Validar’s son, the Heart of Grima, Chrom wants to say, but he’s not sure how Robin feels about those things now.

Robin hums in thought. “Those in Validar’s inner circle certainly do. But those that are still alive saw the fiasco of his revival and know he and his Hierophant are dead.” Robin lets out a self-satisfied smile, as if he’s about to spring a trap on an enemy. “And who are we not to take advantage of all this confusion?”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Tharja hears the upper caste of the Grimleal before she sees them.

Thanks to the Grimleal’s depleted reserves, courtesy of Validar, all it takes is a few well-placed hexes from her and Henry to get rid of the guard on their way to the Dragon’s Table. Honestly, it was rather sad, especially since Tharja once counted herself in their ranks before she met Robin. But everyone knew that to get anywhere up in Plegian society, you have to deal with the Grimleal.

The entrance Dragon’s Table is slightly ajar. She spies a large rectangular table close to the entrance, before the exquisite ground mosaic that makes up the altar, where what’s left of the Grimleal argue against each other like a pack of ravenous coyotes. Currently, a wrinkly woman is engaged in a screaming man with a pudgy hooded man across the table.

“Validar is gone!” the old woman, dressed in heavy veils, the traditional outfit of healers, bangs her hand on the table. “Yet you still wish to follow him as if he’s our God—?”

“Ylisseans are camped out in our capital right now and you’re still seeking to destabilise our Council?!” a middle-aged man in heavy ceremonial robes, seated at the end of the table closer to the Dragon’s Table, cuts her off. “If it wasn’t for all those mewling masses you’ve curried to your favour, I’d have you drawn and quartered!”

“Now, now, all may not be lost!” the pudgy man who was yelled by the priestess spoke up. “We’ve just received words that the Ylissean camp is heading back to their country. Validar said our Lord’s Heart is nestled deep with the Ylissean army, perhaps this is all—”

“Stop clinging to the plans of a dead man!” the priestess cuts him off, unperturbed by the previous threats on her life. “While you all play political theatre, I’m the one who follows our Lord’s dogma and sees that the clinics still function—!”

“Ah yes, your dogma...” another Grimleal mutters up, loud enough to make sure she is deliberately audible.

“Speak up, Councilwoman, or has your spinelessness spread to your voice?!” the priestess yells back.

“I said what I said. Had it not been for heathens like you who undermined the Grimleal’s pledge with your little missions, Validar would have never garnered enough support from—!”

“Heathen?! At least I have a dogma and don’t blindly follow people because I fear they’ll put a dagger on my throat if I don’t!” the priestess yells over her fellows. “And did we not see how Validar’s little war went?! Instead of clinging on to life tooth and nail and biding our time until our Lord Grima returns, he went on some hare-brained scheme to speed up the process and look where it got us! The mere nerve to call me a—!”

“I have and I will!” the other Grimleal shot back, equally venomous. “You and your little healers, twisting our Lord’s words until we might as well rebrand ourselves as priests of Naga—”

“Insult me like this again and I’ll march you to the table and cut your throat myself!”

“Lovely crowd,” Robin mutters under his breath as they stop just out of the site of the entrance.

“I’ll go in and calm them down,” Tharja says, then smiles. “We can’t have their little quarrels spoiling your grand entrance.”

Robin makes a face, but unfortunately the veil obscures enough of him that Tharja only sees his eyes narrow.

Which is a shame. They’ve all been through enough by now, and Tharja thought that after Robin woke up from their final battle with Validar — which Robin would do, he had said so, he had promised them all he would do — they could finally step back and enjoy the rest of their short lives. 

Not that she regrets spending this time with Robin, away from the Shepherds and working so closely together. But as always, Robin is too focused on his mission and fails to enjoy the simple things in life, that lovely outfit Tharja specifically prepared for him. She hopes he at least keeps it after this mission is done. 

And what a strange turn of events this has all been... But Robin is still the same old Robin, even when he took her aside to ‘tell her a secret’, her heart fluttering as he opened all his eyes and told her he was Grima. Tharja never worshipped the Fell Dragon, nor did she care much for Gods, so Robin being one only added to his allure, not vice versa. She said as much, and Robin gave her one of these little embarrassed smiles that hold a special place in her heart. He is her fated one in more ways than one, though Tharja would still follow him if he wasn’t Grima.

But Robin being Robin is why she still feels a nervous shiver rush past her as she approaches the entrance to the Dragon’s Table. Robin bottles things up and stews them over, and that worries her sometimes. Tharja knows how awful that feels, and if there is one good thing that came out of her joining the Shepherds, is that she can let her hair down, metaphorically. But Robin can’t exactly tell all those little Ylisseans he is the sworn enemy of Naga, so Tharja worries.

“And who are you?” a Grimleal asks, making Tharja focus on this little pathetic assembly of so-called faithful.

“A mere follower bearing good news,” she says with a bow and a smile as the Grimleal stop arguing with each other and focus on her.

The head priest at the top of the table scoffs. “Unless the Yliseean palace has just gone up in flames with the new Exalt in it, I doubt it.”

Tharja rises and doesn’t bother hiding her wide smile. “Even better, milord. After all, even such grand structures will fall to decay and ruin, whereas our lord is eternal and undying.”

She ignored their puzzled looks as she moved to the side to make way for Robin’s entrance.

Though she knows what to expect, she can’t help but grin as Robin silently walks into a crowd of puzzled looks. He still has his robe on and only two of his eyes are open, but magic coils around him, as if the very air is solidifying, and anyone who does not recognise it as Grima’s is a fool.

The Grimleal dare not speak at the sudden intrusion, or at this supposed stranger walking past their assembly and towards the centre of the room, coming to stand by the very edge of the cracked mosaic,

“The Dragon’s Table has seen better days,” Robin calmly says as he lets his robe fall and pool to his feet. His wings unfurl from his back, a soft grey, brushed to perfection. Tharja holds back a wince as she recalls what a pain it was to get all the feathers in order and make him look less like a plucked chicken — though she appreciated the chance to let her hands freely roam on Robin’s back.

Their confusion gives way to a mute realisation, as their eyes travel from his wings, to his face and finally to the brand on his ungloved hand.

The head priest at the table stands up, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. “And who are you, stranger?”

Robin turns back to face the man and opens the rest of his wonderful eyes. “Who do you think, my faithful?” 

The magic that coils around him forms a mirage of Grima’s dragon form, a malevolent serpentine shape with its eyes glowing in the same blood-red hue as Robin’s. While the rest of the Grimleal gasp and mutter at the display, Tharja frowns. Robin’s tone is carefully blank, and she knows that only happens when Robin wants to be cautious. A shame, since she thought he would find it fun to lord these idiots around.

The head priest is frozen in place, looking at Robin then behind him, eyes wide. “But that’s not.... We thought Validar...”

Tharja’s lips curl at the mention of that name. Validar may have proclaimed himself to be Grima’s most faithful follower, but he had hurt Robin so much.

Robin, to his credit, narrows his eyes at the mention of that man. “Validar was many things, a fool most of all, but he was of my... lineage.” 

“T-then this is most excellent news! Oh Lord Grima, how long we’ve awaited your return!” the Head Priest says after a few moments of hesitation, joined by the other Grimleal. Tharja finds his smile wide and fake. “To celebrate your return, we will—”

“Don’t,” Robin cuts him off and they all go quiet. “What were you about to say? A feast in my honour?” His eyes narrow in amusement. “Do I look like Naga to you?”

The Grimleal chokes on their own words. “N-never—”

“Good. I am here to give you orders and be on my way, not to make merry.” 

“Orders? We will follow anything you command of us, Lord, but we were under the impression that once you would awake—”

“I have plans. Ones you are not privy to.”

“A-As you wish, milord—”

“I knew I was right about trusting in Validar,” a Grimleal hisses, “and you all dared doubt me—”

“But, ultimately he failed me, and for what reason do you cling onto the memory of a sad dead man?” Robin cuts them off, and the Grimleal clamps her jaw cut.

“Still his son...” the pudgy Grimleal speaks up, pressing himself against his seat once Robin turns his gaze on him. “He sides with the Ylisseans and just left with them back to—”

“My Heart is loyal,” Robin evenly says. “He will ensure Ylisse does not attack Plegia.”

His words are accompanied by murmurs, the Grimleal gossiping with each other, as if they were le privy to some grand conspiracy. Tharja wanted to laugh but kept herself in check for Robin’s sake.

“Ha!” the head priest eventually exclaims. “But of course. And your Heart will pave the way so that once we strike back those worms will cower...”

The head priest’s words die in his mouth as the heavy atmosphere around the room becomes suffocating. Tharja feels it too, and she clutches her tome tighter, but does not blame Robin for it. The Grimleal are bloodthirsty idiots, and even the idea of Plegia waging another war with Ylisse is enough to fill her with dread. They’ve all had enough.

“If you seek death so eagerly, then throw yourself off this tower before plunging this region into another war.” When the head priest doesn’t respond, Robin turns to fully face him and his wings extend. “Or offer yourself to me and I’ll do so in your stead.”

“Milord! I—”

“I sense hesitation...” Robin innocently says with a tilt of his head as he approaches the head priest. “which is not what you felt while so eagerly planning for the deaths of thousands of your people, is it?” The man stays stuck to his chair as Robin reaches its back and leans close to him. “Do you value your life above theirs, Grimleal?” Robin’s fingers curl around the wooden back like claws. “Do you think you are exempt from the ultimate destruction that awaits all?”

The man wilts under the Fell Dragon’s six-eyed gaze. He’s gone awfully pale and Tharja fears his heart will give out here and there and even further complicate things.

But it will be fun.

“And what of the son of Naga and that damned exalted bloodline?” a small-framed Grimleal asks, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Two sets of Robin’s eyes switch to the new speaker as he stands up straight. “Leave them be. They’re of no threat.”

“But they—”

The third pair of Robin’s eyes swivel to the small-framed Grimleal. “They’re of _no_ threat. Do I have to repeat myself a second time?”

He’s met with silence.

“There will be no war with Ylisse,” Robin continues as he walks down the table, each Grimleal stiffening as he pauses them by. “Let the Naga’s followers obsess over their absent goddess until their kingdom only exists in the annals of history. They have just begun to see the errors of their ways, and they will try to make amends.”

A Grimleal huffs. “As if we’ll accept charity from those heathens.”

Robin makes no motion to show he heard them. Instead he keeps walking down the table, passing by raised shoulders and furtive glances, until he stops by the wrinkled priestess at the very end. “You. Grimleal.”

“Milord Grima,” she says with a deep bow.

“I heard your shouting as I was approaching. You have an... interesting view of my dogma.”

Like her compatriots, the priestess goes pale under Robin’s gaze, but her clenched jaw is all that gives away her fear. 

“I am simply following the doctrine of my sect, Lord Grima,” she carefully begins, and stares straight ahead, not looking up to Robin. “Those less attune your teachings,” she glances around the table, “view our mission as foolish and counterintuitive, but we see through the hidden meanings and untold truths.” 

“Oh? And what is that, Grimleal?”

The Grimleal hesitates and swallows before her expression hardens and she stands up and shouts: “We may be rats, but when wars end rats are all that remain!” 

She’s met with silence and her composure falters. The head priest is looking between her and Grima with an amused look, perhaps glad he is not the one who has to suffer his master’s wrath.

Robin lets out a short, barked laugh that has everyone at the table even more unnerved, but which Tharja finds downright adorable. “And what else do rats do, my dear priestess?”

The priestess lets out a small, self-satisfied smile before she pauses in thought. “They... eat what they can. They never let go of an opportunity.”

The veil shifts as Robin smiles. “Exactly. And now that Plegia is starving, Ylisse will offer a buffet in goodwill. So make good use of it while it lasts and get this country back on its feet.”

The priestess nods. “Though I’m afraid this will take time. Plegia is lacking in many things, among them a ruler, and we’re not making much progress on that end.”

“Lord Grima,” the head priest speaks up, having regained some of his previous colour. “Following the chain of command under Validar, I am next in line for leadership of your sect.” He gives Robin a deep bow. “With your blessing, I will take up my post—”

“I see,” Robin cuts him off and the man goes silent. “Interesting, especially since it was under Validar’s watchful gaze that Gangrel took the throne.”

“That usurper! He—”

“Rallied the people, who opposed you, because of your sorry state of affairs,” Robin evenly says. “I don’t see the issue here. They were more, you were less. Or do you also think of yourself as special, worm?”

The man struggles to form an answer. “No, milord.”

“Again, your words lack conviction. What a sad state of affairs indeed...” He lets out a sigh before turning to the wrinkled Grimleal. “Priestess.” She perks up, equal parts eager and terrified. “You’re the only one here with some inkling of understanding of my words, so, you will take command of the Grimleal for now.”

Tharja wishes she had some way of permanently putting reality to paper so that she could capture this moment. The scandalised expressions of the head priest, the priestess caught between joy and shock, and Robin amongst them all looking perfectly composed.

“Now, if that’s all. I have other business to attend to. Until you hear from me again, you follow her.” Robin’s eyes narrow and his wings give off a nervous twitch. “Of course, if there are any disagreements that lead to a ‘change of leadership’, then I will consider this whole enterprise sham and raze it to the ground.”

“... Milord?” A Grimleal asks, confused.

“If one of you idiots tries to assassinate her, I will drag you to the Dragon’s Table, disembowel you and gorge myself on your remains,” Robin evenly says and every Grimleal shrink in their seats, priestess included. “Consider it a mercy that I have not already done so after some of your pathetic performances. Understood?”

They all nod like scolded schoolchildren.

“Good. I’ll return, but until I do, remember this,” Robin says as he approaches Tharja’s side, sparing one last chance at the assembly. “As the priestess says, you’re all rats scurrying for survival. So do not delude yourselves by thinking your lives have any more value to me than the most wretched beggar.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

As soon as they are out of earshot, Robin’s shoulders sags and he lets out a deep exhale. “I think that went well. I didn’t lay it too thick, did I?”

“That went great,” Tharja says with barely hidden glee. “Oh Robin, you should let that side of yours out more often...”

“I’d rather not,” Robin curtly says, and Tharja hides her disappointed pout. She knew all along that Robin had a dark side to him, but she only saw glimpses of it during his riskier plans, where he would use Shepherds as bait, or choose one of them over the other when sending out the healers. It’s a side she quite likes.

Robin keeps a steady pace as they descend the tower and brings up his hood. Again, they encounter no guards. “We should keep an eye of them just in case, make sure they don’t try a sneak attack on Chrom, or on Ylisse...” he trails off with a huff. “Or me.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Tharja immediately says. “I’d kill them first.”

“And I’m glad to have you on my side as well,” Robin quietly says, and Tharja feels her face heat up.

She’s trying to come up with a way to respond as a blur rushes up the stairs and catches them both by the shoulders.

“Wow, that was amazing!” Henry says as he pats down his dishevelled robes. “My friends told me the whole story, and boy, everyone’s faces when you told that head priest to kill himself! A shame he was too much of a coward to actually go ahead and do it!”

“Good to see you too, Henry. Are we being followed?”

“We will be soon! Everyone’s scrambling to get their spies to follow us! That head priest already has a couple of tricksters on the way, and the old lady’s got another old cleric-looking dude stationed by the entrance.”

“I’ll cast a hex to obscure us,” Tharja offers. “I’ve already done so that they can’t hear us.”

“I’ll get on distracting them then!” Henry adds, then sighs. “A shame we can’t stay here longer.”

Robin slows his pace, and a few seconds later Henry and Tharja follow suit. She looks back to see him slightly apologetic, though it’s hard to tell with the veil.

“You two can stay if you want. I don’t expect there to be another conflict between Ylisse and Plegia, and I don’t mean to drag you along the continent again...”

“Ha! As if I’d have this kind of fun with anyone else!” Henry quickly says.

“I will always stay by your side, Robin,” Tharja agrees.

Robin stares at them for a long second before his eyes wrinkle and his cheeks shift in a hidden smile. “Thank you.”

That expression, combined with the memory of him towering over that poor Grimleal, makes Tharja realise she quite likes Robin’s softer side too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up next Saturday, stay tuned  
> Find me @ SleepDeprivedFemale on tumblr, @ Sleepy#3903 on discord, where I'm always up for a chat ✌


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